


bringing the house down

by ladydemelza



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bartender Ben, Drinking, F/M, Mutual Pining, Rating will go up in later chapters, Restauraunt AU, Rey/Finn friendship, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Swearing, awkward space virgins being awkward not in space, back waiter rey, idk man i'll add some tags as i go, rey/poe friendship, rey/rose friendship, slight poe/everyone, sweetbitter au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydemelza/pseuds/ladydemelza
Summary: Rey, a former foster kid, moves to the city and gets a job at an upscale restaurant. Everything about the restaurant and the people who work there is messy, tangled up in knots, but nothing quite as much so as the bartender.-----Leaning down a little to get closer to Rey, he said into her ear, “You let people get under your skin.”“Wrong,” she said with a scoff.“Press your buttons way too easily,” he continued, breath stirring the tendrils of hair that had come loose at her temples.“Wrong again.”“Working with you is going to be…fun.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is really loosely based on/inspired by the novel sweetbitter by stephanie danler (mostly in that i am using an upscale restaurant as the setting, in that ben is a bartender, and that rey is a back waiter). i have had the idea kicking around/developing for awhile and have had this portion written for quite some time but didn't have the courage to post it, so be gentle please!

The most striking thing about the wine shelf wasn’t necessarily the sheer amount of bottles it held, even though that was itself a daunting inventory to memorize. Mostly, Rey was impressed there was never a speck of dust on any of the bottles or on the dark wood. The gleaming wooden bar stretched under her fingertips, a comprehensive selection of alcohol lined up straight as soldiers behind it. The warm overhead light reflected off the glass bottles and the spotless mirror behind them and it almost looked like stars to Rey, winking in and out of existence as she turned her head, a whole galaxy of changing constellations.

It was by far her favorite place in the restaurant, especially when it was empty like it was now.

If she was honest, she had no idea why she was chosen over the many other applicants. She couldn’t be the only person who had applied with previous restaurant experience. It barely counted anyway, being a waitress at the tiny diner back home. Most of what she did was fill the coffee-stained mugs of regulars with liquid that she supposed could be considered coffee, but perpetually tasted like a burning tire. Nothing like an upscale Italian restaurant in the biggest city in the country.

She was nervous when she started, but after a week of getting used to running food and drinks and bussing tables, she felt more comfortable in the dining room of the restaurant than she even did in her tiny apartment. Part of it was that she never truly had a space that was her own before, without foster family or roommates. Sleeping on a loft felt weird to her, but she had never been the type of person who slept well, so that was to be expected. The ceiling just seemed so close, like it was going to cave in on her, making her mind even more difficult to quiet than it already was. The tiny makeshift kitchen area didn’t bother her—nor did the fact that she could barely close the bathroom door due to its proximity to the toilet. It was the sound of her neighbors that kept her on her toes, the idea of so many other lives being lived within feet of hers, exhilarating and uncomfortable all at once.

“You’re early, new girl.”

Rey turned and saw one of her coworkers, Poe Dameron, standing at the end of the bar, still wearing street clothes. She was so absorbed in looking at the bottles that she hadn’t heard him approach. He was smiling, as always, with a dark mop of curly hair. Before working at Shmi, Rey was pretty sure that the idea of a server with charm to spare was just a cliche, but Poe was practically textbook. He consistently made the highest tips at the restaurant, but she couldn’t hate him for it—he was using his super power for a good cause, she supposed. 

“Soup’s on in a few minutes. Maybe you’re late!” she pointed out, smiling slightly. 

She liked Poe, even though she still couldn’t be sure if he was being nice to her because he was nice to _everybody_ and could make conversation even with something inanimate if he really wanted to. He always tried to include her and had done his best to train her well, and that was enough for her right now.

“Very funny. I’m never late.” He ran one of his hands through his hair. “So have you been to the AT-AT yet?”

She shook her head. “I told you, I’ll listen to your recommendations, but I’m not drinking alone.”

He gave a chiding sigh. “Oh, Rey. If you never do anything but work, do you really live in this incredible, culture-filled city at all?”

Rey scoffed. “You said it was a dive bar that you guys like because it’s nearby and cheap! It hardly counts as culture.”

With a smirk, he said, “Fair enough. We’ll take you after service.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. Her coworkers were all so…involved with one another. They were like a family, almost—sharing meals, living together, drinking together, and sometimes even more, if the gossip she had heard was accurate. 

They heard voices in the dining room. Dishes full of steaming food were being brought out from the kitchen and laid on one of the tables, the scent of it rousing a pang of hunger in Rey’s stomach. 

“See? Never late,” Poe said, gesturing for her to follow him.

* * *

 

“Did you see the owner when he was here last night?” Poe asked, voice low.

During family meal, Rey sat at a table in the dining room with Poe and his friends: the first line cook, Finn, and another server, Rose. Rey poked at what was left on her plate, trying to look less interested in gossip about the restaurant’s owner than she felt. So far, she had only caught glimpses of the general manager, Mr. Hux, who was _very insistent_ he be called _Mister_ Hux, and only that. The first time she saw him, Poe whispered that he was a “sniveling douche” in her ear, and that was all she knew about him besides his name. He was the opposite of the relaxed and friendly Front of House manager, Amilyn Holdo, who had interviewed Rey and helped get her training started. 

Rose shook her head, black hair bobbing in its ponytail. “I still haven’t ever seen him!”

Poe was nodding. “I saw him go upstairs to Hux’s office. I couldn’t believe he was still able to climb the stairs.”

“Why?” Rey asked.

Finn said, “I’ve seen him. He’s old. Like, _really_ old.”

“Moves fast for an older guy,” Poe added, nodding. 

Rose looked engrossed, like they were telling her an urban legend. Her eyes were still wide and focused on Finn. “Doesn’t he always wear a suit?” she asked.

“Always,” Finn affirmed. “That’s what Holdo told me, anyway.”

Rey considered this. “I wonder why he doesn’t want any of us to really know him.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “There is one person who knows him really well.”

A tall figure emerged from the back room, heading for the bar. Rey noticed his height immediately—he had to be over six feet tall. His dark hair was almost shoulder-length and wavy in a way that looked like it could be coincidental, but probably wasn’t. Rey assumed he was someone who worked at the restaurant, since he had come from the back room and was dressed in the restaurant’s uniform: a black collared shirt and black pants. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he had missed family meal, or maybe just oblivious to everything around him.

“Who’s that?” she asked, nudging Poe with her elbow and gesturing lightly toward the tall guy.

“Oh, Solo? That’s the bartender. He’s been off this week. I’ll introduce you.”

Rey followed Poe across the dining room toward the bar, leaving Finn and Rose to whisper about the reclusive owner in the few minutes they had before it was time to start getting ready for the dinner service.

He was carrying a case of wine with deceptive ease, setting it down on the bar as Rey and Poe approached. Their eyes locked, and Rey knew she should look away, should try to be less boldly and unapologetically curious, but knowing didn’t translate to her actions. He crossed his arms as she stared. 

“Solo,” Poe said, “this is Rey. She’s new.”

His eyes still hadn’t moved from Rey’s. She could feel a flush spreading across her cheeks, and something unidentifiable at the back of her mind—it almost felt like recognizing someone. Fresh anxiety rolled in her stomach as she tried to recall where she might have seen him before. She imagined it was like living in the same place all your life—knowing exactly where every light switch was, even in the dark, and then suddenly not being able to find one you’re sure is there. Foster care had moved her around too much to ever experience this feeling firsthand, but every new room she ever had, whether she shared it with other kids or not, she always spent at least a few minutes in the doorway feeling for the light switch, getting used to where it was. 

“Ben,” he said, giving her a slight nod without breaking eye contact.

Everything about him looked dark, though not necessarily dangerous. His eyes were slightly wide and he looked as stunned as Rey felt. It almost felt like he had divined something intimate, even secret, about her, and he looked almost painfully aware of that. Whatever was passing between them felt like understanding, knowing, and it made her heart pound hard in her chest. 

He looked like he _belonged_ behind the well-kept bar, like he blended in with everything else that was dark about it—the wood, the wine shelf, the bottles of reds. It was as though the last piece of the puzzle that was the restaurant was sliding into place, and it was him, and it was so obvious she should have guessed it.

Rey wrenched her eyes away from his, almost having forgotten Poe was there, or that she was even at work at all. She couldn’t help looking at the pressed collar of Ben’s shirt, the way his dark hair slightly curled just above it. How could she meet his eyes again after staring into them for so long?

Ben turned to Poe. “Hey, dickhead. Use my first name when you’re introducing me to people.”

Poe made a tutting noise. “Such language. Don’t let Hux hear you say that.”

Ben gave a careless shrug. His eyes met Rey’s one last time, intense and focused, and he turned away, loading bottles of wine onto the shelf behind him.

It felt like forgetting her own name, him not looking at her.

* * *

 

The glasses were always hot when they came out of the dishwasher—almost hot enough to burn the soft pads of her fingers. She grabbed the glass rack and carried it out to the bar, passing Poe, who was talking to Finn through the pass as Finn cut and plated a wood-fired pizza. Rey saw Rose across the dining room, smile flashing at one of her customers.

The hum of many different conversations all occurring at once filled the restaurant, along with errant scrapes of silverware against porcelain. Holdo spoke to an older couple as she topped off their glasses of water, both the man and woman looking slightly surprised by her lavender-colored bob.

Ben was at the bar when Rey approached, shaking a shaker with one hand while he filled another glass with soda. Rey watched the set of his broad shoulders as he worked. They really were _ridiculously_ broad, she thought, and he looked taller still without the bar standing between them. She could see his eyes, less focused on what he was doing now than they had been when he was looking at her, she thought.

“Thank you,” he said when he saw her putting the glasses away. He cracked open the shaker, still with one hand, while she watched, emptying the liquid into a martini glass. It was hypnotic and she wanted to watch him do it over and over again. 

_There’s work to do, Rey_ , she told herself, heading back to the kitchen.

She returned a few minutes later with a fresh glass rack filled with clean wine and cocktail glasses. The wine glasses belonged on a shelf above the bar that Rey could reach perfectly fine if she stood just slightly on her toes. She reached the first glass toward the shelf and felt the air around her shift with someone’s presence. Ben was behind her, reaching clean over her head to take the glass out of her hand and set it on the shelf. 

She whirled around, annoyed, finding her eyes about level with the sturdy panes of his chest.

“You’re a little short for that, aren’t you?” he said, looking down at her. His expression was blank, unreadable, which only made her more annoyed because it was impossible to tell if he was kidding or just being an asshole.

“I got it,” she said sharply. “I’ve managed every other day this week.” 

Surprisingly, his expression softened. “Clearly.” 

Reaching around her, he took two more glasses from the glass rack and put them onto the shelf above her head. When she met his eyes, there was something in them that felt like it could almost be a challenge. 

“You don’t have to be a giant to reach it,” she pointed out, indignant.

“Giant?” he repeated. The corners of his mouth twitched. Rey tried not to stare at his lips, but found it was infinitely easier said than done. They looked smooth and full and _very_ distracting, and she felt even more annoyed, but with herself more than him.

“Hey,” Poe said, appearing by the wine shelf. Without taking his eyes off the labels, he said, “quit teasing. She doesn’t know your weird ass personality like the rest of us do.”

“We’re fine,” Rey said, waving a hand in dismissal. Her eyes flicked back up to Ben’s. They were bright and warm now, she could see, with an edge she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

Leaning down a little to get closer to Rey, he said into her ear, “You let people get under your skin.”

“Wrong,” she said with a scoff.

“Press your buttons way too easily,” he continued, breath stirring the tendrils of hair that had come loose at her temples.

“Wrong again.”

“Working with you is going to be…fun.” 

She clapped back immediately, “Yeah, it sure is.”

He turned away to check on his customers, and Rey swore she saw him smirk. She put every last one of the glasses on the shelf, knowing he was watching and trying with all of her might not to care.

* * *

 

The AT-AT, her coworkers’ favorite dive bar, definitely lived up to the billing of “cheap” and “nearby”. There were mismatched chairs here and there throughout the small space, and Rey was pretty sure every single stool lined up by the bar would wobble so violently if she sat on it that she’d fall off. The bar itself was made of a brushed, dull metal, and one wall had an old mural of some sort of robot-like creature with four legs. Even from across the room, Rey could see the paint was cracking and faded. 

She was crowded into a booth opposite Finn and Rose, who was bickering across the table with Poe over who had served the pickiest customer that evening.

“She asked for a glass of _just_ olive juice, Poe—”

“I’m pretty sure that they were trying to teach _me_ what _al dente_ means—”

Finn snorted. “Don’t forget who had to actually _get_ the olive juice.”

Rey looked back and forth between her friends, smiling. She couldn’t wait until she was promoted to a server and could join in.

“So hey,” she said, unable to hold in her question any longer. It had occupied every thought she’d had since she saw him earlier that afternoon. “What’s up with that bartender at work?”

Poe and Finn exchanged a look, and Rose whistled low.

“How much time do you have?” Rose asked, obviously sarcastic.

Rey looked at Poe expectantly. “Well?”

Poe smiled wryly. “I saw you got acquainted.”

“You mean, you saw him being an ass,” Rey said, unamused. “He said I was too short to put away the glasses.”

Poe rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Solo is…our most special coworker.”

“By ‘special’,” Finn supplied, “he means terrifying.”

“Pretty sure he’s a vampire,” Rose added in agreement.

Rey tapped her fingers against her glass, not sure what to make of the sparse information they were giving her. It occurred to her that maybe nobody really knew anything about Ben Solo at all, but given how intertwined they all were, she found that hard to believe. How could someone disentangle themselves from the knotted-up lives of the people working together at Shmi? Poe had seemed like he was at the very least familiar with Ben when he introduced her. At least, she didn’t think the term ‘dickhead’ would pass between _total_ strangers.

“The only thing I know for sure about him,” Poe said after a moment, “is that he has a regular that he won’t let anybody else talk to.” He took a swig of his beer. “That, and that he’s a nerd who doesn’t really socialize. Except with Snoke—that old guy who owns the restaurant.”

Rey furrowed her brow. “Why won’t he let anyone talk to his regular customer?”

Poe shrugged. “Maybe she’s his sugar mama.”

Rey couldn’t help laughing along with Finn and Rose at that.

“Everyone has their own theory,” Rose said. “I’m partial to the idea that she’s his coven’s leader.”

“She does only drink reds,” Poe said. “Classy lady. Aged like a fine wine, too. I offered to get her another glass once and I was pretty sure Solo was going to slam my head in his locker door in the back room.”

“Holdo knows who she is, but every time I ask, she just says it’s Ben’s business,” Finn said, swirling the last bit of his beer in the bottom of his glass. “I’m gonna get a refill.”

“Me too,” Rose said, sliding out of the booth after him.

Poe watched them go, and then turned to make eye contact with Rey. “Solo can be an ass, but he’s all right.”

Rey sighed. She remembered seeing the smirk across his expressive lips, the way it felt to almost recognize him somehow. The way it felt when he looked away.

Poe lowered his voice as Rey drained the last bit of her drink. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you: definition of unavailable. At least, from what I can tell.”

Rey choked on her beer.

She was still coughing when Finn and Rose returned with another round, and she drank several swallows of the beer they brought for her, trying to soothe her coughing fit (and also partly because there was just no way she could do this without more alcohol in her veins—she was not even half-drunk enough for this).

“You okay?” Finn asked, watching her with concern as she gulped and then sputtered some more.

Clearing her throat, she nodded.

Poe’s expression was mostly blank, but Rey thought she could detect a hint of amusement in the angle of his lips. “We were just talking about whether Solo is single or not.”

Rose snickered. “Single, probably. Available? That’s a different question.”

“He seems kind of…intense,” Finn agreed.

“ _Vampire_ ,” Rose said insistently.

“This is all irrelevant,” Rey insisted, a little more loudly than she meant to, “because I’m only here to work, and save up, and go for a cheap drink with you hooligans.”

“Cheers to that,” Poe said, raising his glass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- come say hi on tumblr @supremedumbass  
> \- title taken from the song 'bringing the house down' by cloves, which is a wonderful reylo song  
> \- i used Adam's skill of making a one-handed martini for Logan Lucky in here bc why not  
> \- thanks for reading!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Ben. Come out with us after close,” she said.

In the mornings before work, Rey ran. It was part of her routine for many years back home, and now that there was so much to see outside the tiny pocket of her apartment, she was setting personal bests for distance just by exploring her surroundings. She loved the feeling of the miles passing beneath her feet, the almost shiver-inducing trickle of sweat down her back, the way loose, unruly strands of her hair stuck to her flaming red cheeks. The autumn mornings were cooling gradually, leaving her lungs feeling invigorated—it was so different from the stifling hot air she could barely breathe back home. _Not home_ , she reminded herself. No, now this apartment was her home, even if it still didn’t quite feel like it yet. She was beginning to jolt awake in the middle of the night a little less than she had at first, though she suspected she was just tired from working and going out late. Even so, it was progress.

Music thumping through her earbuds, she lost track of how long she ran as her mind drifted. The habit had started, she thought, as a way to clear her head when she was a teenager. Her future had seemed blissfully far away when she felt her breath coming harder and her heart squeezing in her chest, further away even than dreams. The future was a little less mysterious now, but she still couldn’t break the habit of only being able to disengage when her body was straining. She couldn’t make her feelings, _everything_ , inside her feel _less_ in any way other than running until she couldn’t feel the pressure, the _weight_ , anymore. It felt like a storm in the desert, whipping wind pressing in on her from every direction, unrelenting, until she couldn’t think clearly, had to _move_. It was so, so much, all the time, and running until the storm stopped and she could feel her muscles, burning and sore under her skin, was the only way to survive it.

Her thoughts were wandering things now, wondering whether Rose’s sister was as pretty and feisty as Rose was, or what Poe’s parents were like, since she had learned they lived nearby and he visited them often. She wondered about how Snoke had come to own the restaurant, how someone like Mr. Hux had come to manage it. She often wondered about Ben, but the more she thought, the assumptions she had made about him became fully formed, almost definitive facts in her mind. He talked to her like he knew everything about her already—why shouldn’t she make some assumptions about him?

For one, she knew there was more to his relationship with Mr. Snoke than anybody at the restaurant really knew. She had only seen Ben climb the stairs to Hux’s office when Snoke was there once, but he emerged looking more serious than Rey had ever seen him, his features trained to stone even more than usual. Her guess was a relationship that predated Snoke buying the restaurant.

For another, she knew the reason he didn’t engage with his coworkers—she had right away. But she couldn’t tell her friends until she got him to admit it to her. She _needed_ that. She _wanted_ him to know she figured him out as easily as he thought he understood her to an almost compulsive degree. It wasn’t a game to her, but it was something _like_ a game—one she shouldn’t be playing, especially if she wanted to keep her job, her livelihood—but she couldn’t stop herself, not because she was a thrill-seeker or enjoyed the idea of flirting with being broke, but because in a twisted way, somewhere deep behind her heart, she thought it might be worth it.

* * *

 

Rey dragged the raggedy mop across the floor, always a little startled by how heavy it was. It never seemed like the water it held should weigh as much as it did, but there were a lot of surprises in store for Rey as she saw to various cleaning tasks around the restaurant. Finn swore there couldn’t be anything worse than the kitchen cleaning he was responsible for, and Rey supposed he had a point there. Mopping the wine cellar was probably better than cleaning the wood-fire oven or cleaning under the range. It was so quiet in the cellar despite the bustle of her coworkers preparing for service, and it gave her the chance to close her eyes, breathe, and feel the cool air soothe her fingers before the abuse they would endure the rest of the night carrying hot plates and bussing dirty dishes.

But never putting away clean glasses anymore.

The first time she left the full glass rack behind the bar for Ben, he gave her a questioning glance, but was too busy to linger. She caught a glimpse of his regular customer—a kind-looking older woman with beautiful gray hair, always elegantly pulled back, fingers rubbing the stem of her wine glass absently. Ben talked to her a little, Rey had seen, but not too much, and it nagged at her as she tried to figure out what the relationship between the two could be. Poe’s ‘sugar mama’ idea had made her laugh, she had to admit, because the woman _was_ well-dressed, and so beautiful that it didn’t seem all together _unlikely_ that she could have a younger spouse, but something about it didn’t fit. Ben looked somehow less dark, less serious when she was around, his expression more relaxed, but he didn’t exactly treat her warmly, nor did he look necessarily comfortable.

After leaving full glass racks behind the bar three times, he touched Rey’s elbow as she was walking away to get her attention. His fingers pressed so delicately, so cautiously she wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, but there was no mistaking the insistence behind it, or even the tinge of awkwardness Ben carried with him everywhere he went.

“Rey,” he said.

It was the first time he had ever said her name, and it sounded like an intimate nickname in his deep voice—the kind of nickname you probably didn’t say in the company of others, and definitely didn’t say in public. The sound of it made her lean forward slightly, just slightly, into his personal space.

“I’m a little busy, Ben,” she said as briskly, carelessly as she could manage. Her eyes met his briefly before she looked away.

His lips moved into a puzzled expression, and she could almost see his mind working through them as they shifted again, now looking slightly wry. She felt a strange swooping of adrenaline, or maybe nerves, in her stomach as she saw him struggle to form words.

“I see what you’re doing,” he finally said, still sounding smoother than she wanted him to.

Her eyelids fluttered. “Well, you did mention that I was too short.”

The less amused he looked, the harder her blood rushed in her veins. He’d know from now on, she thought, that she gave as good as she got.

“If you wanted a step stool,” he said coolly, “all you had to do was ask. I’m happy to provide one.”

“If you wanted clean glasses for the bar,” she replied, reckless, “you could just be less of a dick to that very nice back waiter.”

Their eyes met, and he looked almost embarrassed. “My mistake.”

“Yes,” she said, turning on her heel to walk away. “It is.”

The next night, she saw Ben in the kitchen, dark hair tousled, retrieving the glass racks himself. She was waiting by the pass for the last plate of food for one of Poe’s tables, and he met her eyes, smiled a soft, almost imperceptible smile, and carried the rack toward the door.

“What’s that look for?” Poe asked him as he entered the kitchen, noticing Ben’s expression.

“Just thinking about what your mom said last night,” Rey heard Ben say.

Poe laughed, and so did she. She didn’t see Ben turn to catch one last glimpse of her at the sound before disappearing through the doorway.

The earthy scent of the cellar was almost calming. She was almost done with her mopping and slowed down to enjoy the quiet for just a little while longer. She put the mop back in the bucket and lingered in the doorway, thumbing the light switch gently, memorizing it. It was true that she ran to forget, to empty herself in that way that only physical exhaustion could do, but when she cleaned, all she could do was think of Ben. Think of what she was doing, what she hoped to accomplish from getting…even, she thought, but she knew it was more than that, too.

In the cool air of the wine cellar, she could be honest with herself for reasons she couldn’t fully identify. Maybe because it reminded her of him, all the shining glass winking at her as she moved among the shelves, or because the smell of it clung to his clothes more often than not, drifting between them when they stood closer than they should, when he invaded her space like he barely seemed to realize he did. She felt herself wonder if she imagined everything about the connection she felt when she saw him, the magnetic way she always seemed to viscerally _feel_ where he was in the room. More often than not, she tried to tell herself she was imagining it, tried to tell herself to stop trying to annoy him, or get to know him, or _whatever_ she was doing.

But then she’d see those brown eyes again, where she felt an inexplicable sense of belonging, and she’d spend an extra minute staring at the bar just to see the curve of his back while he rearranged the bottles at the end of the night into their perfect straight lines.

* * *

 

The first time she saw him dusting the wine shelf, it was late and she was heading to Holdo’s office after the restaurant had closed. Most of the lights were off with the exception of the bar, casting a dim pale across the darkened dining room. His back was to her, shoulder blades shifting as he moved every bottle to methodically wipe down every part of the shelf. It was almost funny—she never expected Ben to be the quite that obsessive about cleaning, but then she remembered the first time she saw the shelf, and how it never was dusty or even smudged with fingerprints. She realized he must wipe it down most nights to keep it that way, and involuntarily wondered what his apartment was like, not that she’d ever see it. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He turned and she saw his profile, his slightly large nose, the steeply angled line of his jaw. A white wireless earbud peeked out from behind strands of his dark hair.

“Shit,” he said with a start, seeing her from the corner of his eye. He took out his earbuds. “Sorry. I thought Holdo was the only one here.”

“I’m terrifying, I know,” Rey said, teasing a little.

He seemed nervous, as though he hadn’t recovered from being startled yet. “I wasn’t--” he stuttered, stuffing his earbuds in his pocket. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Joking,” Rey said, awkwardness thick in the air between them.

“What I meant to say,” he said, “was: short, yes. Terrifying…no.”

He started dusting individual bottles of wine with that same challenging look in his eye Rey had come to recognize well. It was different from the look he gave Poe when Poe pretended to be confused about which table to take drinks to, or the look he gave Rose when she threatened to steal all of the bar naps from his secret stash (which she inexplicably knew the location of) if he didn’t just give a _little_ more generous of a pour with that bourbon, because she knew this customer and knew he wasn’t going to leave her a good tip without being as inebriated as possible. The look he gave Rey wasn’t softer—nothing like that. There was something more intense about it, less ambivalent. Something less guarded.

She smirked a little. “You’re aware that your giant-ness distorts your perception of what constitutes ‘short’, right?”

He coughed once, eyes determinedly focused on the bottle he was dusting. “That’s a good try. If my buttons were as easy to press as yours.”

Feeling chagrined at having proved him right, she changed the subject. “Every bottle, huh? That’s commitment.”

His expression hardened almost imperceptibly, but she could see the shift even in the low light. “Even this place has standards.”

She quirked an eyebrow, leaving an unasked question lingering in the air, waiting for him to look at her. After a long moment, he finally did.

“Has anyone ever told you about the founder of this place?” he asked, setting several bottles and another microfiber cloth on the bar in front of her. With a barely-there smile, she grabbed one of the bottles and started wiping it down.

“He named this restaurant after his mother,” Ben explained, still working and determinedly not looking at Rey. “She meant everything to him. That’s what they say, anyway.” He seemed almost nervous to be sharing this information with her, and she felt her brain reaching to make frantic connections.

“How do you know all this?”

His eyes darkened. “Snoke—the owner—told me. He told me the founder poured everything he had into this place. I feel…obligated, in some ways…to honor that.”

She understood where he was coming from to a degree. Even at the crappy diner she worked at back home, she always made sure the salt and pepper shakers were full, did her best to coax as much flavor out of the terrible coffee as she could. But there was something more. Something under the surface, something just barely visible behind his dark eyes. There always was with Ben.

“I understand,” she said after a long moment.

He looked at her again, set of his mouth a little doubtful, but before she could say anything else, he nodded tersely. And then she couldn’t figure out what else to say.

So they wiped down the rest of the bottles in a silence that felt easier to Rey than almost anything else she had done since coming to the city. It felt warmer, more like home than the kitchen in the restaurant, than the wine cellar, even than her lofted bed, too close to the ceiling but not close enough for her to trace the constellations in the textured plaster with her fingers.

* * *

 

“And that’s why he never comes to family meal,” Rose was saying quietly as she tied her apron around her waist. “Because he drinks blood.”

“Very compelling, I must say,” Rey said, giggling as she closed her locker. They were in the locker area of the back room getting ready for dinner service, and of course Rose wanted to share more evidence in support of her vampire theory. Rey knew when her friends talked about Ben that she couldn’t be imagining her strange connection to him, because his reasons for this seemed so obvious to her that she could not fathom why others couldn’t see them.

The back door opened and Ben strode in, late as usual. Rey and Rose exchanged a look and tried not to laugh, and Rey felt her heart swell suddenly at the camaraderie.

Ben rushed to his locker, spinning the combination lock between his long fingers.

“We’re headed to the usual place tonight, right?” Rey asked Rose, trying to ignore Ben, who was stripping off his button-up flannel to change into his uniform. He was wearing a wife beater, which relaxed her a little—at least she wouldn’t see anything more than his arms, and the absolute last thing she needed was to see more of him than that. He changed so quickly that his arms were bare for no more than a few seconds, but that was enough to make her feel like she had been running for miles. Rounded muscles under pale, smooth-looking skin contracted as he bent his arm and shoved it into the sleeve of his shirt. Ben looked over at her just as she looked away, pink prickling on her cheeks.

It was embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing, and so _stupid_ , god, what kind of a person couldn’t handle even the _sight_ of someone’s incredibly muscular _arms_ —

“Yeah,” Rose said, totally unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Then again, Rey supposed, Rose probably had seen Ben change into his uniform a thousand times, but her traitorous mind couldn’t imagine ever being used to seeing even just his arms. Her imagination had its own ideas, which were very firmly not related to listening to her demands to stop being so _stupid_ about this, and inevitably drifted from the sight of Ben’s arms to what _touching_ Ben’s arms would feel like, and then parts of his pale skin she couldn’t see, and she knew she was in trouble now, more trouble even than just wanting to get to know him, and her thoughts raced, moving twice as fast as normal, and before she realized it, she was speaking.

“Hey, Ben. Come out with us after close,” she said. She sounded confident and casual but felt a clenching in her chest as embarrassment and anxiety overwhelmed her.

He looked surprised more than anything, maybe because she was obviously ignoring his intentional rebuffing of his coworkers, or because people just genuinely didn’t ever invite him along. Rey suspected the former. It seemed obvious that he should have realized she’d ignore every one of his self-imposed rules.

He buttoned his shirt, then adjusted the collar. She imagined he was thinking about the consequences—that seemed like something he would worry about. Then, as he turned back to face his locker, depriving Rey of seeing his expression, he said, “Sure.”

* * *

 

“You invited Solo.”

Rey felt a little defiant at his tone. “I’m allowed to invite coworkers, right?”

Poe sighed heavily. “Rey. You should know this isn’t about my personal feelings toward the guy.”

She leaned against the wall as Poe entered his access code into the computer. The server station was a tight space, but tucked away in a corner with the computer used to ring in orders, so it was the best place to have a private conversation, outside of the wine cellar. It was early still, but Poe already had a couple of tables seated.

“What is it about, then?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t pry, but all Poe ever did was encourage that sort of thing when he asked her things like what her foster parents were like, or why she didn’t seem to have any friends outside of coworkers, or even why she wasn’t using a dating app to meet people—was she dating, anyway? The prying never ceased, really, so she figured this didn’t even technically qualify as prying compared to the types of questions Poe usually asked.

“I already have tables and I spent my entire morning trying to explain bisexuality to my parents so they will stop freaking out about my future wife, or lack thereof, or _whatever_. I can’t be responsible for all that _and_ explaining this.”

“Sorry,” she said, eyes focusing on the floor.

He peered over his shoulder at her. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“The puppy eyes,” he said, refocusing on the computer screen. “I know they’re there even if I’m not looking at them.”

But she didn’t feel guilty about it.

After a long silence, Poe groaned. “Ben is close to Snoke. It might not be a good idea to have Snoke’s pet in our booth with us. We all want to keep our jobs, after all.”

Rey almost laughed. “No bullshit, please.”

His lips pressed together for a moment. “It’s not only that.”

She opened her mouth, ready to try to drag the real reason out of him, but he held up his hand to stop her. 

“Do me a favor and run these cocktails as soon as they’re ready, all right?” With a grim look, he disappeared back out into the dining room.

She headed to the bar, knowing Ben always worked quickly and that the drinks for Poe’s table would be ready before long. Pots and pans were already ringing in the kitchen as orders began to come in.

Normally, Ben looked at ease behind the bar, less like an alarmed animal about to bolt than usual, but as Rey approached, he seemed guarded. He was working silently, pouring liquor into the shaker. Every stool was empty still, but the air felt heavy, tense as the second before a dropped glass shattered on the floor.

“Poe is trying to tell you I don’t do this,” he said, watching his hands on the shaker for once instead of her.

Trying to protect himself, she knew. If he rejected her offer now, before she had a chance to take it back, he couldn’t get hurt, wouldn’t be _involved_.

She knew she shouldn’t lie, but shook her head. “No. Everyone else goes out. I don’t see why you can’t, too.”

“Lie,” he said easily, filling the martini glasses with liquor from the shaker. He dropped two olives into them with soft plinks.

Stubbornness flared hot in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not,” she insisted. “Besides, you’ve been doing part of my job for awhile now. I probably owe you a beer or two.”

His expression softened for a split second, but as quickly as she noticed it, he was stony-faced again. “The glasses? No. That’s hardly just your job.”

“Listen,” she said, reaching to take the martinis. “If this is because you’re scared of people knowing anything about you or whatever, I can promise you, a few drinks won’t change any of that.” Her tone was a bit more cutting than she intended, but she knew he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to without a little pressing. “You can’t possibly be scared of them,” she added with a small, disbelieving scoff. 

He finally, finally looked at her instead of the drinks. “I’m not.”

* * *

 

“Well, Solo? There has to be someone.”

If looks could kill, the icy stare Ben leveled across the table at Poe would have left him both dead and buried.

“I wouldn’t tell you if there were.”

Poe was drunk, Rey knew. Probably not wasted, but drunk enough that what little filter he had was long since abandoned. Maybe she was being too generous to suggest he ever had one in the first place.

Ben was swallowing down his beer in a way that suggested he was definitely not drunk enough. He was beginning to look as though he was regretting agreeing to come out with them.

Instead of leaving it alone, Poe pushed. “If you’re trying to tell me there has never been a person in this restaurant that you thought about banging on that bar, you’re lying.”

Ben’s gaze hadn’t thawed even slightly. “Dameron.”

“Loosen up!”

Rey searched Ben’s face for any hint of anything at all, any emotion. His expression was blank and still. For all she had thought about bringing Ben out with them to drink after work, she had never considered Poe’s propensity toward asking inappropriate questions while inebriated, and really, she should have known better. She hadn’t considered Finn’s propensity for egging him on, either, which, again, should have known better.

“Yeah, yeah, loosen up,” Finn echoed, elbow jabbing at Ben’s arm.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Sure.”

Finn and Poe whooped, high-fiving like teenagers, Rose looked embarrassed, and Rey was transfixed by Ben’s expression. She wanted to know about this even though it was wildly inappropriate. Wildly, wildly inappropriate. Probably more inappropriate than the images her imagination had conjured up after seeing Ben change his shirt. And, shit, she was thinking about it again, and the haze of alcohol that was slowly settling over her mind was _not_ helping.

“Okay, here’s the real question, though,” Finn said, smile wider than Rey had maybe ever seen it. His cheeks even looked a little pink.

“Oh, shit,” Rose said with a groan. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You do!” Finn insisted with a laugh. “You do, this is important.”

Rey had let them do _shots_ earlier, like an idiot, and suddenly she had so, so many regrets.

“Are you sure?” Ben deadpanned.

“Okay,” Finn said, ignoring Ben. “So that’s guests, right? Customers?”

Ben furrowed his eyebrows and Rey felt an uncomfortable ripple of something through her stomach. It was as unguarded of a reaction as she had ever seen from him and she memorized it. She had regrets, but maybe not as many. Or just as many, possibly more.

Finn was smirking now, smug and mischievous and way too knowing. “What about coworkers?”

Rose groaned again, more loudly this time, cradling her face in her hands, but the sound was drowned out by Finn and Poe’s laughter. Rey’s eyes focused on their hands, clasped together across the table as they laughed.

“What I said before? That’s all you get,” Ben said flatly. He tipped his bottle all the way back, finishing his beer.

His eyes flicked to Rey and rested on her, gazing in his intense but doe-eyed way through his eyelashes. She was pretty sure she felt her entire spine shudder, and the alcohol was probably to blame, right? When she was sober, she could (mostly) handle the way he looked at her, so this had to be the drinks. His eyes were soft but blazing and there was an edge to them, like everything about him, but she was probably imagining it. It was very possible she was imagining him looking at her like that, imagining something was there. But she looked back at him anyway, heat on the back of her neck, her body highly aware that they were looking at each other like they were alone in a dark bar instead of in a booth with friends. The line of his mouth softened before he looked away, lips slightly parting. She saw his throat move as he swallowed once.

“Rey?” Finn rounded on her, glancing at Poe, who was still clinging to Finn’s hand for dear life, eyeing Rey with interest.

She coughed loudly. “Ben keeps the bar pretty clean,” she said lamely, the first thing that came to her mind. “You probably wouldn’t get a disease from it, but would it be worth pissing him off?”

They all laughed at that. Everyone except Ben, who was still staring with an intensity that convinced her she was definitely imagining it.

“I’ll be outside,” he said suddenly, leaving his seat behind without another word.

Poe and Finn were both chuckling while Rose still looked embarrassed at the conversation that had somehow transpired.

“Unbelievable,” Poe said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “He _is_ human after all.”

Rey bit her lip as she watched Ben’s retreating form, feeling her feet moving almost of their own accord.

“You’re a handsome guy,” Finn was saying to Poe. “You’re gorgeous, too, Rose. So is Rey! Why is everyone who works here so beautiful?”

Poe was watching Rey warily. “Don’t,” he said.

Rey shrugged. “I’m going to the bathroom! Relax.”

* * *

 

She _did_ go to the bathroom. But she saw her face in the mirror as she washed her hands in the sink so rusted the knobs barely turned. Her cheeks were flushed from being so huddled together with her coworkers, from drink, from their conversation. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, some strands loosely wavy at her temples, eyes wide and shining. She looked at herself and knew she was going outside. When she saw her friends distracted by the arrival of several of Shmi’s cooks, she slipped out the front door.

The night was cool, dark, still. Ben was sitting on a bench by himself as Rey approached, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers.

She sat down next to him and reached her hand out. Something unspoken passed between them; he knew exactly what she was reaching for. Without touching her, he smoothly placed the cigarette between her first two fingers and handed it off. Rey took a puff, the acrid taste burning all the way to her lungs. She exhaled the smoke. Ben was looking at her now. A thin trail of smoke swirled off the end of the cigarette and dissolved into the air.

“Thanks,” she said, suddenly very aware of how alone they were. There were other people all over the sidewalk, both walking by or sitting outside to smoke, but it felt like they were as alone as the night Rey helped him dust the wine shelf.

“I smoke when I drink,” he said to nobody in particular, like it was just something he wanted her to know.

She nodded, her throat feeling constricted with her uncertainty over what to say. Sometimes talking to Ben was so easy that it, well, scared her…but now, it was so fraught, and she was feeling a little drunk, and it…also scared her? Was it even possible to just be nervous about talking to someone no matter what the situation was? Even when she shouldn’t be?

“Where are you from?” Ben asked.

Rey tried to relax a little, took another puff from the cigarette. “It’s so obvious that I’m not from here?”

She put her hand back into the no man’s land between them and, again without touching her, he took the cigarette back between his fingers. “As obvious as it is that I _am_ from here.”

She was a little annoyed. She did everything she could to blend in.

He noticed, of course. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“You sound like Poe with this question,” she pointed out.

He looked a little stricken at that. “Oh my god. He’s getting to me.”

“I’m just not used to it, since you mostly just annoy me at work.” She felt a swooping sensation through her muscles, a shiver behind her shoulders. Had she really just said that?

His expression was one of full-blown panic. Apparently his buttons _weren’t_ too difficult to push if he had a few beers in him. “Sorry,” he said immediately.

“I’m teasing!”

He tried to smooth himself out immediately, tried to banish his obvious anxiety, and she smiled a little, holding out her hand again for the cigarette. If she was going to make further conversation with Ben, she wanted a little more nicotine. This time, the hand off was a little less smooth and she felt the brush of his warm skin against hers.

“Arizona,” she finally said. “That’s where I’m from. It’s hot as hell there.”

The tone of the conversation had changed now, from light and teasing to something more meaningful, loaded, even. Ben was searching for her eyes, she could tell, but she purposefully didn’t look over at him.

“And why?”

She shrugged her shoulders and handed the cigarette back. “I always wanted to see the city. Experience seasons.”

“That’s not why.” He sounded so sure. He was right, of course...much as she hated to admit it.

This time, she steeled herself and looked at him. She needed to show him he was wrong, show him he didn’t know everything. Show him something other than how lonely she had been for her whole life and how desperately she wanted to fit in here.

And his eyes were waiting for her, knowing, seeing past the way she set her features.

“Not money,” he said. “Rent would be cheaper somewhere else.”

“Tell me about it.”

He continued to study her. “Not family. No, I don’t think you have family around here.”

Rey felt heat on her cheeks. He felt so close mentally that the physical space between them felt like it was crackling with something stronger than electricity.

“I’ll have to keep guessing if you don’t tell me.”

She couldn’t help scoffing. How could someone be so shy and embarrassed one minute and so arrogant the next? “Why should I?”

He leaned a little closer to her and her eyes focused on his lips so quickly and naturally that she couldn’t stop herself. “I haven’t done anything to earn it, and I probably don’t deserve it. But I can listen. You can tell me and I won’t tell anybody else, at least.”

Well, that part was true. She liked her friends very much, but telling any one of them anything meant it wouldn’t stay a secret. It was the way things worked at the restaurant.

“It just sounds stupid,” she said.

He tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”

Words spilled out. “I just thought, you know, if there’s anywhere I could belong, wouldn’t it be in a city of millions?”

She thought he might look triumphant as her cheeks flamed, as she felt far too vulnerable for her liking, but she was surprised to find that he looked almost sad. She could feel him inching even closer to her mentally, and her hands shook where she had them clamped together in her lap. They were too close to go back to the easy but distant familiarity she shared her other coworkers now.

“You’re not the first person to come here for that,” he said a little stiffly. He seemed like he was trying to comfort her but wasn’t sure how to. “I always thought that too, actually, about this place.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “So where is your family?”

“I’m a foster kid. I don’t know where my biological family is. I moved from home to home until I was 18.” She had practiced saying this so many times, so carefully, to get the tone just right, just enough balance without bitterness. Drunk or even asleep, she felt confident she could say it perfectly, avoid anyone feeling too sorry for her.

Ben was silent for a moment. Maybe he was surprised. “Must be lonely,” he finally murmured.

Fuck. How could he _know_? How could he hear straight through her rehearsed response? Nobody else ever had. Nobody else saw her curiosity for what it really was—searching for something. Someone, maybe. Everyone thought she was just outgoing, friendly, maybe even a little tactless. Everyone but him.

“It’s possible to be lonely even with family,” she said before she could stop herself.

He nodded once. “I understand.”

“Where’s your family?” she asked.

He flinched a little. “It feels like shit, you know. Saying it after hearing about yours.”

A wave of alcohol-induced carelessness swelled inside her. “So fucking what?”

Sheepish, uncertain, taken aback. All things she had not seen from him before. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Just say it,” she prodded. “Don’t act like I’m the only goddamn person you have ever known whose family is a little different from yours. Everyone does. Don’t do it.”

“Point taken,” he said softly. “They’re more nearby than I would like them to be.”

It was quiet for a little while. Rey could have thought about how much she hated it, feeling so radioactive after telling people about her past. She had just moved to a new place, was just beginning to make new friends, and it felt like it was the only fucking interaction she ever had these days. Being drunk felt too good, too comfortable, for it to bother her now, but she knew she’d be running longer tomorrow.

“I want a shot,” she said. “I want a shot, and then I want to go home.”

Ben sprang into action, bringing her some sort of whiskey to drink, and she slammed it even faster than Ben could tip his back. She thought maybe he would look a little impressed, but mostly she thought he looked worried.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. “Walk or cab?”

“How much money do _you_ make?” Rey asked incredulously. “Obviously I’m walking. You don’t need to come.”

“Obviously,” he shot back, “I am not letting you walk alone.”

Her throat burned a little from the whiskey. “But oh, the horror, you’ll know something very personal about one of your coworkers!”

She was so shocked to hear him laugh she almost fell over.

“You think you’re really funny.”

“I am. You agree. You just laughed.”

“Sometimes, people are laughing with you. Other times…” he trailed off, teasing.

They started walking, Rey completely forgetting that she should let her other friends know she was leaving. Ben smelled like the still city night and the wine cellar and a menthol cigarette and cheap beer, and his pale skin absorbed the fluorescent glow of the streetlights and made him look like the moon in the dark, and she just couldn’t focus on anything but that and the cigarette they started to share.

“That’s why you don’t come out,” she said. “You don’t want to get to close. You don’t want people to know you.”

“I know that’s what you think.”

“You’re afraid.”

He let out a huff. “Not of that.”

“What then?” She knew she was asking for too much, but the line between personal and professional had already been crossed so many times that night that it was gone.

“You’re smart enough to figure that out for yourself,” he said simply.

“I have to hand it to you,” Rey said, “that’s some cryptic bullshit, even for you.”

He shrugged. “What do you people say? Oh, right. Facts only, I think, is the slang.”

Rey was aware, then, of their mouths occupying the same space on the filter of the cigarette, of their bodies being too close together and occupying the same space on the sidewalk. Of their hands sharing the space between them, brushing accidentally, touching intentionally as they traded the cigarette back and forth. Her muscles sang in a way they hadn’t before and it felt good. She felt good, so good, warm and slow and oblivious.

When they reached her door, she tried to thank him for making sure she got home okay, but the only thing that came out as she found herself level with his broad chest again was, “You’re so…fucking…tall.”

He smiled a little, and the sight made her feel like she was falling, cool air rushing around her, goosebumps all over her entire body. She memorized that look, too.

“You swear a lot when you drink,” he said.

Her fingers fumbled with the keys. “Sure as shit.”

He stepped just a little closer. “I like it.”

And she had absolutely no fucking idea what to say to that. None whatsoever. He wasn’t close enough to touch anymore, and she was grateful. So she turned the key, because she needed to get inside, and now. She couldn’t be out in front of her apartment with Ben for a second longer without—without—

“Goodnight, Rey.”

Her heart gave a jump at the sound of her name in the low tone of his voice.

“Night,” she mumbled, wrenching the door open.

She slipped inside, real and painful goosebumps erupting along her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huhuhu :))))
> 
> thank you so much for the comments/kudos/etc., i love you all with my entire heart!!!!!
> 
> come say hi on tumblr, @supremedumbass
> 
> again i love you!!!! a lot!!!! thank you!


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